A portlet for emotional exhibition

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April Fool’s Day. Indeed.

Why is this just relegated to one day? I certainly feel like I am fool, or being played like one through out the year. I catch myself in foolery, but continue towards the cliff as the sun merrily shines brightly at my back…you know, like that idiot in the tarot card? The dog is sounding the alarm of certain death, but there’s no acknowledgement because you are wearing tights and a cheap, flowery tunic, probably singing a Bee Gees song.

What the fuck is a practical joke? The only thing that I might consider practical about a joke, or the joke that is my life, is that of the PRACTICE of me playing into the absurdity around me. “Oh, you’re an asshole? Let me help you to be more comfortable by conceding to you.”, “Well, hello, you don’t have enough electrical impulses in your brain to make a full synapse towards rational thought? Let, me hold your hand and walk you through pulling on one sock at a time.”, or “I know you’re a full grown adult that obviously demonstrates more arrested development than common sense, how can I be at your service towards fully enabling you?” Awww, shit! There’s the cliff with no one to help me because all I have surrounded myself with is other fucktards that are milling about like cats that have just been darted in the neck with tranquilizers.